


Money Doesn't Burn.

by TheWriter456



Category: Presentable Liberty
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriter456/pseuds/TheWriter456
Summary: "I thought after all the people were gone it would be okay...yeah...I really did, I'd finally be alone...but I was wrong..."---Head-canon for the emotion-twisting game Presentable Liberty. One chapter, that's it. Just a head-canon I thought about to make the game slightly more interesting.





	Money Doesn't Burn.

5 weeks ago  
My hands shook as I typed out the letter. We were so close. So close to the end of this...of all those people. My room overlooked the bleak city that used to be crowded with people. My stomach lurched at the thought of them. Their voices echoing as I pushed the small card of text into an envelope. My heart rate increased as I closed the envelope and stood, dragging my heavy feet to the door. I slipped the letter underneath the crack, I heard my assistant's footsteps as he retrieved the letter. I inhaled sharply, the thought of him being so close scaring me. He didn't say a word, but all this nonsense clouded my mind. Comments, screams, groans of pain, blood gurgling in people's throats. I thought it would be nice, seeing them die off like flies. Those I chose to still be alive will be gone soon. Then it will be me. Until I too, one day, die.

\--  
27 years ago  
I was a peculiar child. I never wanted to be near my parents or other people. My mother and father got angry with me if I didn't listen and avoided their eyes or them in general. I didn't go to school. I didn't go outside. I never left my room. The thought and sound of people was enough to make me bedridden. I wrote stories and poetry. Which my family had sold for profit from their in-human son. After they both died, all their money went to me. I like the ambition and thought of money. Long dead people printed green, and sculpted onto circular metal disks that controlled our lives. I never left my home, I just wrote. After writing an entire three page poem about money and it's properties, I adopted the name. Those who followed my works called me Doctor Money.

7 years ago  
I started crawling up the business chain. Swallowing down high concentrated medications to barricade my feelings towards my own species. I wasn't afraid of interactions...no...I was afraid of people. I'd found my own diagnosis, Anthropophobia. I was horrified of humans. I couldn't talk to them, only write letters. I was so rich by the point of my downfall that I'd come up with a plan to rid the world of the stain humanity had created. I could sit with a clear mind. No longer afraid or have to drown myself with pills and sedatives. The planning took a lot of time, and talking to those who were big players in the whole thing. I didn't tell them what would happen after what I wanted created, but I told them they would have immunity.

I watched their progress from a far, test tubes and wires tangling into this web that would control what will destroy the world. I kept away from the labs, in case something went wrong and I ended up with my own devious plan's outcome. I stayed in my home, a penthouse that overlooked the damned city. I'd watch, with several pills in my palm and drink them down, as my mind grew numb. I'd have to take them all over again six hours later that day.

I was a handsome man. I had a clean cut face and sharp jawline that was model-like. I had been told I should have picked up modeling, but I couldn't have handled the stress and fear edging itself into me. I hadn't ever had any emotional relationship with anyone. Not even my parents. They were majorly religious, and they thought I was the the spawn of Satan as my anti-social and human-hating speech nicked their ears. They died when I was young in a gas leak, I survived, since I was alone in the backyard. I hadn't even known they were dead until a police officer found me. He'd tried touching me and I'd screamed. Screamed bloody murder, because his species is what I feared most. I covered every mirror. I never took pictures of myself. I couldn't stand thinking that I was human.

I'm insane. I know this. I can't collect my thoughts in an organized manner. This is why I write short and sweet sentences in my letters to people. They get what I want before I start rambling and send them my insanity in an envelope.

\--  
I ran out of my medication two days ago. Everything that could have possibility of any physical connections to people I start losing my mind. My door is locked, never opened. The letters written to me are slipped under the door crack, same with the ones I write. No one can speak to me anymore. I just sit here, my hands and body shaking.

As I heard the progress of my virus, the less I shook, the less I stared out my window fearfully, the less I spoke aloud to myself, the less letters written. There was, though, a man locked in the elevator. He'd been in my building. He was the most tolerable, so I'd kept him around with an injection of the only antidote created, in a prison cell made of the elevator to my penthouse. I'd hired an old business partner of mine, Mr. Smiley, to keep an eye on our guest. Make sure he didn't commit suicide. Being put in one spot and held against your will alone can drive anyone insane, even someone who'd rather it be that way. I'm keeping him alive because I want to experiment a little bit. Before all the subjects are carcasses. Now, as skeptical as humans are, why don't I just kill myself? Well, my friend, I'm scared of humans, but not as much as I fear death.

As I saw Mr.Smiley start getting shaky with his duties, I got his daughters involved. I, of course, was not involved with capture and housing of the girls. I just ordered someone else to do it. They found, took, and locked them in a room in my building. Mr.Smiley was in reach of them, but he wasn't clever enough to find them in time. I had no hesitation with the slaughter of the girls. Two less humans in my way. When he found out, he'd hit my door repeatedly, sending me into a psychotic break. I sat on the floor, my eyes stretched wide, teeth sinking into my lip. I slipped a letter under the door and it made him stop, then curse me out.

He was dying. He was infected. His organs would go on the market easily. That was the next step after all. I wrote to him that the organ trade would get him money, so he could make one last effort to save someone. The man in the elevator. I didn't even know his name. He hadn't spoken to me at all. Smiley agreed, that he'd sell the rest of his organs. I remember smiling at that. Everything was falling into place. I could witness the organ trade happening outside. I watched with happiness as people died from the new organs and the virus at the same time. It was morbid, but I was fine with it. What was the point exactly? Humans. All we ever did was destroy.

This wasn't all about money...hell no. It was about watching as a green piece of paper became so valuable during survival. More money, more chance of surviving and receiving the cure. I didn't make a cure, besides the one I gave my friend in the elevator.

I wasn't immune. I don't know if the non-sociopathic part of me decided that I deserved death or that after all of this I would be ironically killed by my own virus. Irony, I loved that in a good book.

\--

After every single little friend of my guest tried and failed, I informed him of my decisions. And that he was the only immune human. After his loneliness got to him, I saw my time to strike. It'd been months since I'd left my penthouse. The door creaked open into the hallway, my stomach aching as I saw blood streaked across the wall. I hadn't realized an infected had come through here. The building had this silence and creaking sound to it. Like the world was dead, so the inanimate objects could steal the spotlight.

I walked on, my heart thumped hard against my rib cage. My phobia was digging into me. He was the last person to talk to. He was the last one to be seen alive. There were very few people left, and I needed to get his organs to scrounge up the last of the money. Not that I needed it, I just wanted what controlled humans more than anything. Have a little souvenir I guess you could say.

I walked down the stretch of hallway, my nerves getting the better of me. I saw the elevator and my breath got caught in my throat. I unlocked the door, my hand shaking uncontrollably. The keys clinked together as I turned the lock and the door popped loose. I heard movement inside and my stomach flip flopped. I opened the door slowly, and the light casted inside. The man; holding his hand weakly up to block his eyes from the sudden light, gave me a startled look. I exhaled as his eyes widened in realization. I shakily pulled my pistol from my back pocket, pulled it up and aimed for his abdomen. Wouldn't hurt the lungs or heart. Ultimately a painful and long death.

His eyes were sunken in and his face was a little gray as I stared at him. He didn't look very human. It was unnerving to me. My finger moved back and forth on the trigger, my body contemplating to use the gun on myself and let him go. The mind altering seized, and without hesitation, I squeezed the trigger.

\--

It's been two days since I've seen a human. My mind is numb, the voices and flashes of faces have stopped. I'd drank every drop of alcohol in my home. I had plenty of food and water, though. Not like it mattered anyways, There's no way I was going to live another year. This was my gift to the earth. I'd rid of those who were destroying it.

I had forgotten about the man I'd killed two weeks ago. Shot him in the gut, sat against the wall, and watched him die. Seeing life drain from his eyes, was a thrill. I hadn't ever directly killed anyone before and it was an odd thing. I had indirectly killed everyone on earth, though. It was thrilling, being rid of the one thing you feared. It's so lifting, like my brain has been swollen this entire life of mine and it's just gone down.

\--

1 week later   
I started writing again, after all the alcohol wore off. While I was writing, a drop of blood fell onto the paper. I stared at it as my stomach churned. No. No way in hell. I touched my nose, where blood was seeping out and rolling down my face. The first symptom. My brain screamed at me. All the warning and people, staring, their fingers pointed at me as I fell to the floor, my hand smearing blood onto the carpet. I inhaled sharply, the fear rushing back so fast it was like getting hit by a car. I stood, shaking uncontrollably. My chest burned, and I started coughing, gagging on the blood in my throat. All while those I killed stood there, staring at me. I looked up, the man. The one I'd shot in the gut, sat there, resting his chin on his right knee. Blood stains were around his mouth and nostrils. His eyes were sunken in, and bloodshot. He stared at me with no expression. It was just blank.

I was dying. I could feel my heart struggling. I just lied on the floor, my breathing labored. I didn't have an antidote. I didn't have any relief. It's not like I could delay the process with new organs. All I can do is lie here, staring into the blank expression of the man. He hadn't left. I wasn't as scared as I would be with another person. It was so unnatural. The fear that made my head throb and made me just want to scream was gone. It was just this faster heartbeat.

He didn't blink. Didn't change position. Just a freeze frame of the only person I had actually killed with my hands. Staring me down, as I continued losing my life on the floor. Dying was a slow process. Just a ripple of pain passed through me every couple minutes as my organs felt weaker and weaker. Blood was pooling under my chin, from my mouth and nose. I didn't know much about my virus, except the first symptoms. I had them all, which left not much time for me.

As my breath got clogged with my blood I exhaled with a lot of effort. My eyes started growing heavy, as my chest burned and I grew numb from the stomach down. I rasped as my vision blurred and started winking out. Right before complete darkness consumed me, the man came close, his face back to normal. He whispered to me.  
"Money doesn't burn."


End file.
